Liberty Slave, The Girl In The Black Dress
by mywish21
Summary: Ever since Clary was a child, society has forced her to be a slave. Although there are Slaves' out there trying to get prejudice, and they are fighting. Clary wants to be one of them. And once she is, she meets Jace. He is golden and perfect...until he opens his mouth. And despite a shattered world and hate will love evolve between the two who are both fighting for justice?
1. Chapter 1

**_Liberty Slave, The Girl In The Black Dress_**

**Okay this is a new one of my stories, it is original and I have just renamed the characters, and how they look. It is a bit out of character, but I believe it is one of the only flaws of this story. Please do not take any of my ideas, as I said previously it is one hundred percent original. Please R&R because it will make my day. **

I feel my knees collapse from beneath me and notice that my breathing is laboured and harsh. For the fifth time today I repeat the same line that I have memorised off by heart, '_Shut up, keep calm and don't say anything unless you want to pay for it_.' My head hurts and my knees feel weak, and with my fists clenched by my side I ignore the red that flashes before my eyes and the anger that builds up inside my chest making it hard to breathe. With my dress that clearly brands me as a slave; I start to scrub the floor with nothing but a sponge and a bucket of water. There were easier ways to do it, like using a mop; but this was my punishment; this and a slap across the face and push to the ground. After telling Rowling to clean up the mess he made himself.

I only expected him to throw his food all over the floor and tell me to clean it up; after all he wasn't exactly prone to temper tantrums. I look up to see him bending over me, his face was pudgy and his face was still red from the outburst he had earlier. His ugly hair which was a dirty blonde was swept to the side like a 'gentleman', and his face showed a full out ugly sneer as he crossed his hands over his chest and looked down on me. I simply scowled at him before realising that I had already finished scrubbing. Anger burnt up in my chest as I looked at him again, he was so arrogant, so evil and my breaths had become ragged as my anger grew and I saw him grab a glass of his vodka and look at me haughtily.

'_Shut up, keep calm and don't say anything unless you want to pay for it_.' I sat still and emotionless as he poured cold vodka down my back, and I stood there waiting like a predator waits for its prey to make the first move before striking it with an easy manoeuvre and killing it. I then felt the ice slide down my shirt. That was it for me; I totally lost it, so much for keeping calm. I threw him up against the wall my fist balling up in his collar and without thinking twice about it I punched him hard and fast and with elite grace. Blood splattered against the wall, painting my mark there, it trickled down like when you flick your paintbrush at a canvas. Only my canvas was a wall, my paintbrush was my fist and the colouring was blood. I smiled cruelly, and hit him again; he shrunk to the ground and covered his face; his cruel smile wasn't there now, but mine replaced his. God I had been waiting to do that for months. My fist moulded into his cheekbone perfectly as if I was destined to punch the guy- hell maybe it was. _One_ my fist hit his socket- that's for murdering my mother, _Two_- that was for being a bully every time he saw the chance and took it because "I wasn't allowed to hit him." Stuff that rule- you know what- jack the rules. Three that's for- there was no three.

It took every ounce of self-control to resist hitting him one more time let alone my fantasies off hitting one hundred more. Because he was my master and I was, wait for it, _his slave_. His goddamn slave that wasn't meant to touch him without his permission let alone punch him in the face. That comment snapped me back to the present. I scowled at Rowling who was huddled in the corner, cradling his broken nose with both hands and trying to get into furthest possible corner away from me. I knew I couldn't come back here; I couldn't come back to this house. Because I knew that Slaves that did what I just did, could be punished by death. I know it's harsh but what slave is going to protest out front of the President's mansion when his guards have permission shot us if we get within a 200 metre radius of it?

Welcome to my hell of a life. And little did I know, how much more of a hell it would become.


	2. Flying bullets

**Alright here's another chapter my lovelies, I've just started at a new school. So updates may be slow although I have already written half the stories. Help in me be please reviewing and following! Have a good day and enjoy the story. Please don't criticise to harshly on the grammer.**

I rest on the bus, waiting for the driver to take us faster- waiting for the bus driver to go and take us to a remote place but of course that was never going to happen. The slaves were at the back and the children of their masters were at the front- that was how it went every day. So it was only obvious as I had previously trudged up to the back that I was a slave- a kid from the slums. The rich children stared at me, as if I were a piece of filth. My best friend Simon came up and sat next to me, even though he was one of the Official people which made him just as bad as me, he was known as a traitor. He was used to the stares though; he shrugged them off just like I did. Rain had been bucketing down for the past few days and I watched droplets race down my window as some more followed closely behind. "Hey Simon" I sighed while staring at the bushland we were passing. Simon touched my shoulder, "I know it's been hard because of your mum, but you need to move on." He said, while looking at me intently, my mother was a rebel; she was one of the slaves that hid and joined the war. She became an assassin like the rest of the rebels, attempting to kill those in power. They found her and executed her; my mother was dead, shot,

Gone.

I didn't have time to say that I knew that it had been six months since they raided Rowling's mansion and killed her in front of me, so I wasn't in mourning anymore. I didn't have time to say that I would never be returning back Rowling's house again, because I had just done a crime, that could have me killed. That was when the doors of the bus opened up even though the bus was still going and in front of us was_ them_. Most people were too petrified of to move, they were in army clothing, their faces hidden by protective gear helmets. They were from the Maximum City and known as the officials because they were the Capitol army who had all rights. I knew instantly that they were looking for rebels. Looking for me. My heart pounded in my ear, the adrenaline made my veins ice cold. My breaths became laboured and quickened as they strutted down the aisle. I knew I couldn't make a break for it at the door, two guards were already posted there, and all of them had guns. This of course was their tactic. The children who were from the Maximum part of the city who were also known as Officials were all looking smug because they knew that they were fine whereas we- the people from the slums, had sweaty palms even though most of us had done nothing wrong. The ones who had, they would be lead out of the bus and shot, just like my mother.

Contents from last night were threatening to spill over, Simon noticed it and held my hand, reassuring me- this was not a romantic gesture but only a friendly one we often used. But it did not help as I looked up to the faces of the Officials'. I needed to find a way out, I devoured the freedom which I had minutes before more than anything else right now. Temporarily the Officials' were only focusing on the children across from us and thank god that they hadn't currently looked at me yet. This was my exit and breakthrough, if I was going to do what I wanted at any time, I had to do it now. That was when I nudged Simon and taped my finger at the window.

This was why it only came as an utter surprise to everyone but him when my elbow connected to the window. The window shattered instantly as soon as my elbow forcefully connected to it. Glass shards fell onto me and I my whole body immediately felt the pain of a stinging sensation all over my body. A few people screamed, yet Simon had the decency to duck. Blood trickled at random places, making me look as if a bloodbath was poured over me. I let out a horrific shriek of pain and saw the guard turn their heads to us, their guns now loaded. I put my hands up in a surrender and they unclicked the chamber but kept them pointing at me. The pain was exceptional as shards pressed themselves into my skin; I let out sharp raspy breaths. Simon looked his best to look innocent as they started to stalk up to us; they had no idea that he had anything to do with it. "I tripped" I said plainly I know it was a pathetic excuse; but my voice came out strong and confident thank god which helped enormously. The next part of the plan I knew was dangerous, if I slipped this up I was as good as dead. I squeezed my eyes shut and leaned back and let my body drop out the window, I felt the short moment of freedom as wind brushed past my nose, ears and eyes and pushed my hair back. I tucked my elbows and knees in as I hit the pavement. The compact dug the glass in even further and this time I did scream as I withered in pain, because it was like oranges- you squeezed the oranges to get the juice. But this time it was with me, and my blood.

Then I heard a thump and next to me was Simon. I managed to squeeze out a few words. "Couldn't you have managed to mind your own business?" I asked, smiling slightly despite the situation and he grinned back, our concept was that we were not sane "nope." "This" I said, "is why you are my best friend." That was when the shooting started, pellets dug into the rode missing us by a few inches. Bullets didn't look that deadly until you saw the pointed end of the silver coated bullet. It was raining the deadly weapons and I narrowly missed one at the head. I refrained from the screaming, I was my mother's girl, and that meant that I was strong from what she made me to be. I gasped sharply as one whizzed Simon' ear; I pounced on him and knocked him down before it hammered him in the head. We were seconds before death, and we both knew we had to escape. And for once I was grateful for the fact that in the middle of our city there was a forest with a road every 30 kilometres. We lived in a remote place thank god. We slowly advanced towards the woods, it was our unspoken agreement. "Clary!" Simon screamed desperately through gritted teeth; I ducked without needing to be told and avoided the bullet. I had never seen so many bullets, so much blood me out of my own system; I had never felt so much pain. The adrenaline was coursing through my veins, turning them to ice. I was unable to think, shock had ambushed my brain, I was unable to process the fact that people wanted to end my life, and they wanted me dead.

That was when I saw the woods, close enough to touch right in front of me. I could smell the fresher air which was not intoxicated and ignored the yells; I was so close, just fingertips reach. I could make it I had to the energy was raw and vibrated through me as I realised how close I was- a pain spread through my body as I dropped onto my knees in an ungraceful manner and fell face first into the dirt. A bullet had just skimmed the side of my shoulder, dragging a piece of my bloody unrecognizable piece of flesh with it. My scream was grotesque and ripped through my like a wildfire as I belted out the monstrous sound. Although I looked at my surroundings I was in the woods, I had made it. But I had to survive the night with a horrific pain which felt like acid feeding on my shoulder. I had stopped screaming now and lay against the tree, breathing dumpy breaths from not only the wound but the distance I had to run. The pain had momentarily made me forget all humanity, because it seriously hurt like hell. Where was Simon? Did he survive or did he fall face first in the ground like me but not get up? But that was when I felt the pressure on my arm, Simon was there but I couldn't see him properly through my foggy eyesight, I could tell it was him by the feeling of his touch and his smell.

The sound of sirens interrupted the pain I was in, the Official's had not given up looking for us- they wanted to kill us, torture us, they wanted to end all sanity and humanity we had left. They wanted to take everything that made me away. That was when I was running, I don't know how but I was with Simon slowly behind backing me up and I knew by the look in his eyes that he would take the bullet if someone ambushed us from behind. I must have looked like a sight, I took deep ragged breaths which jutted my body every time I breathed, and the slave dress I wore was torn to pieces with slits at odd places. I had grime underneath my fingernails and through my hair and skin and blood was slowly pouring out of my shoulder. Glass chips were implanted all over me, there was crusted blood moulded around each chip. And to make it even better was the fact that I could barely stand and it was absolutely pouring rain on me now.

That was when I saw the cottage. I can only remember that it was quite small but I didn't really care. I had two options, the first option was to either continue to run and either be ambushed by them and shot or me passing out and them finding me and torturing me. The other one of the options was to belt down this door down and hope that by the one percent chance that the person would take us into their care. I was going to take the gamble my life in both hands and go for the second option. I was running with Simon next to me and pressed both palms against the door and as loud as I could and smacked it. The door shuddered but I continued ignoring the groans from the old pieces of wood. That was when the door opened; in front of me was a frail old woman who barely looked alive because of how we roused her. I looked at her in her silk kimono, her hair placed in curlers; she was a citizen of the Officials'. And then she did the most unexpected thing I would expect someone like her to do, she rushed us inside the house and shut the door nonchalantly. As soon as we were inside, I slumped against her kitchen tiles. A watery yet sickly substance leaked out of my shoulders and onto my hands before leaking onto the floor, I'm assuming it was blood. The world was spinning around me and I barely had time to register the inexplicable pain my shoulder was in. The pain felt as if buckets of acid had been poured on me and slowly melted away my flesh; the pain was not something no one- good or evil should have to experience. I was still curious about why the room was spinning. And then darkness evaded my eyesight and I met darkness.


	3. Truth or betrayal?

**Here's another chapter my bookworms, I personally like this chapter. And if you have the question no, Clary shall not meet Jace into the next few chapters. Sad, I know, but I need to piece this story together for you because it has such a complex plot. And I am not including a love interest until everyone understands what's going it. **

The water beaded down my back in rhythmic drips. I kept my hand on the shower door to keep my body upright. I watched blood; grime and water intertwine as it slipped through the drain. Most of the blood was old, crusted and a rotten red colour; it was blood from grazes and the blood on my hands. I was strictly not allowed to put my gunshot wound under the shower water, that's what Mary said anyway. I think her name was Mary- that was the name Simon had said when he knocked on my door and told me to shower. I barely thought about what happened, I just felt too dirty to think; so I ran to the shower next to the bedroom door. Now that I felt my muscles unknot themselves and relax, I could remember what had happened yesterday. Vivid images flashed across my mind and then I remembered absolutely everything.

But I wished I didn't.

And after yesterday's events I had clearly become a rebel, I was a part of the resistance. I sat at the edge of the bathtub and felt like punching something, breaking a mirror, swearing a mixture of words or breaking down. But despite those feelings, I just sighed and rubbed my temples. On the ground was a black clothing, it was strong leather pants and a tight top covered with a jacket which hooded my face, it was the clothing the rebels wore. I yearned to look into the full length mirror in front of me, so I did. I looked at my ringlets of hair which reached my mid back; it looked like a soft curtain which moved with my head. My hair was a natural shade of striking red; it was the colour children used when they found the most vibrant red to colour in their drawing of fire. My eyes were an emerald green, and they popped out of my face with the long curled lashes women would envy for. My skin was a fair colour and my face was clear from acne, my lips were full and my nose was hooked although it added an effect on me. My curves were large; it was the kind of large most women were looking for although never reached; I was extremely short, which for some reason added to the list of want. I was known as gorgeous, stunning and the extremely rare kind of beautiful; I was the kind of beautiful that men's hearts would flutter at by looking at me. And then I noticed the scratches and bruises.

There was a cut over my lips, making me look as if I naturally grimaced; it made it look grotesque though, because there was dried up blood smeared on the side that I couldn't wash off. My knuckles were split to the bone, even though I couldn't remember using them. And my elbow looked as if fleshy meat were hanging off it, it was completely grazed and tarnished red. My shoulder was bandaged to my side and right now I felt a dull throb. I was leaning against the sink which helped ease the pain. In my clothing I look raw, as if I were a rare diamond which needed polishing into something great, something dangerous. I was leaning against the sink and panted laboured breaths as I tried to forget the pain. I picked myself up after a few minutes and left the room.

When I walked out, I saw the house. It looked small and frail, like an old Official women's home who would have hated the sight of rebels. That's good I guess, at least she can act her part and keep herself safe. When I walked out of the room, I followed the only hallway which no doubt led to the heart of the house. I walked into the dining area to see who I am sure is Mary, leaning over her cup of tea, her eyes half closed in relaxation. But when I walked in her head shot up. She had one of those faces that whether you saw her once or a thousand times, you would always remember the features of her face in the back of your mind. Her eyes were a warm chocolate brown; she had grey hair which hung near her bottom. And she looked frail yet very headstrong. She looked up at me with a painful smile and I sat down silently across from her at the small table. And then I saw Simon come in, Simon had an already bruised eye and a scar which cut diagonally from his jaw to his lower lip. Simon' brown curly hair tumbled down his face yet plastered to the frame of his cheeks. His hazel eyes pierced into mine and I stood up abruptly and ran into his arms.

Simon' arms encircled around my waist and I let a shaky breath go as I fell into his chest. We stayed there for a while, doing nothing more than just holding each other; although the hug was so tight you would think that we were clinging onto life. Simon comforted me and I comforted him so we just…. Hugged. But god help me; Mary had the nerve to make a sound of discomfort _ditch_ the fact that Simon and I jumped out of a moving bus and had bullets targeted at us, _ditch_ the fact that I got hit by a flying bullet and _ditch _the fact that Simon and I didn't know if the other was alive but _Mary had the nerve_ to clear her throat as if she didn't want to see it. But of course she didn't, she's was raised by Officials' and just because she saved our lives doesn't mean that she would want to see filthy _peasants_ be happy. She was raised that way, if any person from the slum had a smile, smirk or a glint in their eye it was considered filthy and something that shouldn't be seen because people from the slums were not meant to be happy. I've heard what people say, they don't think we deserve happiness.

I glare at Mary, she may have saved our lives but I hated her. I drowned out the sound of Mary's voice until I heard one word. "Names" She snapped, I turned my head to her and raised an eyebrow. "I want to know your names, your first and last." Simon and I looked at each other and didn't say a word, Mary as an afterthought added, "Because I did save your lives." Simon looked at me and I nodded "Simon" he said curtly, "what about your last name?" Mary questioned, "I don't have one, and I was disowned as soon as I befriended Clary." Clearly Simon wasn't going to elaborate, it pained him when he touched the topic, of course Simon wasn't disowned for just befriending me; he just didn't want to tell Mary the full story. When Mary averted her eyes to me, I leaned forward onto my elbows at the table, making it look as if I were relaxed although I was anything but. I looked at Simon for a second and nodded. Simon stood up and I followed, "I need to have a word with Simon "I said curtly before dragging him out by the elbow.

My head was thumping, should I tell her? If she knew my name she practically knew my story, because my name was not something people threw around. If one of the Officials found at my real name I could be arrested on sight. My mother wasn't someone to talk about, but my father was something different; my mother's name was whispered about when no one heard, that was the same with all rebels. But my father…

_When I was twelve years old, we had the once a year meeting that all schools had, it was about the rebels warning us that we should not follow their path on fighting like the rebels did for our families safety. But the kid in front of me, he was sixteen years old with curly dark hair and so tall that I couldn't see over his shoulders; the kid shouted my father's name, he shouted it in front of the officials, his hand raged upwards and started screaming it as if it were a prayer. I could see by the way his shoulders sagged that he knew what was coming, the boy kept screaming it and screaming it and then his body collapsed right onto mine his eyes rolled to the back of his head, crimson blood stained his white school shirt, he had been shot and as well as dead. Only at his memorial when I saw his eyes forced shut when I passed his coffin did I learn that his name was George. My father had that influence; they killed a child- a boy who still had a chance at life, after he shouted my father's name._

Simon looked at me with wide eyes and I noticed that my breath had gone rapid as I thought about the memory; my name was so influential that the officials were allowed to shot on sight if they heard someone say his name. If Mary knew my name and used it against me, Simon and I could be dead the second we were found by Officials. "Listen Clary" Simon said looking into my eyes, he was talking rapidly which meant he wanted to get his point across "If Mary wanted to give us to the Officials she would have already while we were asleep. It's okay to tell her, generally Clary you can read emotions well; if you notice anything strange about her we ditch here and leave." I leaned against the patterned wallpapered wall and nodded before walking back into the kitchen. My heart thumped and raced at an unsteady beat, even though Simon was probably right I still had my doubts, so I did a once over on the small space.

I saw nothing so I slowly sat down and looked at Mary. Her eyes sparked with curiosity as she looked at me "my name is Clary Fairchild." I said lowly, Mary's mouth turned agape and her eyes shone with water as she actually looked at me. And then her gaze turned back on my eyes, with a quick second she straightened her back up and looked at me in the eyes. Simon obviously didn't notice the sadness radiated off her for two seconds but I certainly did. "I knew your mother, Jocelyn Fairchild" she said quietly and that was when I snapped. "Everyone knew my mother, she was a pleasurable lady but she died, I watched her get shot, I don't want your sympathy." Mary just looked at me intensely "I changed my last name, it's my father's surname my name is now Clary Morgenstern." Mary looked at me sceptically, "Valentine Morgenstern's daughter died." She snapped back, "No he didn't" I said calming myself down, "Valentine Morgenstern's daughter survived because I am her."

I lowered my top to show a red birthmark on my shoulder blade, it resembled to a knife which was ironic because my father was one of the best trained rebels there was which meant his experience with knives. But everyone knew what his daughter's birthmark was so this was living proof that I was his daughter. And the only three people who knew that she was alive were Valentine, Jocelyn and Simon. Mary reacted by putting her head in her hands and I heard the word 'how' be muttered over and over again as if she could not believe what she had just heard, it was a normal reaction I think to act that way. "My father's smarter than you think, have you ever considered the fact that he might have known had the idea that Officials' were coming to raid the house and replaced me with another child before running." I said cruelly as I shoved the truth straight into her face, I said it tonelessly as if it had no effect on me, I knew my father did not get his label for one of the best rebels for nothing. The idea that dawned on her gave her a forced and tight expression which made her look as if she had been going at 90kmh before hitting a brick wall. "The Officials' killed the child of their own side didn't they?" She asked breathlessly with tears glittering in her eyes. "Yes the Officials killed one of the children of Maximum City, not me." I replied straight forward. Mary's eyes watered, "they killed one of their own didn't they?" she asked, "They killed one of their own, they killed an innocent child; what has this world come to?" She said quietly, I looked at her harshly almost speechless, _so it was alright for me to be killed but not them_? Fury burned through me like fire, wasn't I an innocent child three too?

And that was when I yelled, I growled so loud that if officials were looking for us we would be found, but honestly I didn't care. I was tired of keeping all of this in, I had it penned it in so long. Because I knew that if I were to say something in the real world I would be killed because what I had to say was not pretty. I was tired of being kicked down, raising others children, cleaning after them and being spat on; I was tired of being a slave. And that was when I let my outburst go. "You think it is okay for me to be killed on national T.V as an infant, I was innocent too at that age! You think I like being spat on treated as if I were a waste of space. You'd ask what has come of this war and I will tell you; you know what has come of this war yet? Absolutely nothing, but I won't stop until my ashes lie on the ground if I have to, to make sure that and my children and grandchildren all have the freedom we deserve. But I will make sure that I will get it and I will follow my father's footsteps to make destruction and destroy the system TO GIVE US FREEDOM!" My scream became raw and desperate; I was so angry; so angry that I couldn't comprehend what I was doing anymore. The hand that was on the table Mary's tea was on was now gripping the edge of the table and my knuckles were turning white with the amount of pressure I had put on it but I didn't care anymore. I threw the table across the room with my unwounded arm and watched it hit the wall and rebound onto the floor.

I looked at Mary's face and expected her to have raving emotions across her face, I thought she would be scared, hurt, sad and very vulnerable I mean I just through her table across the room. But instead the look on her face was joy and she was smiling, a devious smile as if she knew something I didn't and that was when I realised that something was incredibly wrong. She rested her hand on mine and smiled kindly, "it's done my child, it's done; you have said your speech. And I believe you; you are welcome to the rebel community." Rebel? Wasn't Mary from the Officials' Community? Before I could comprehend what she said I looked at Simon, his movements were sluggish and his pupils now look dilated, not in terror but in _haze_? The tea cup Simon had drank now slipped from his grasp and crumpled inside itself as it smashed to floor, I of course had not accepted Mary's drink in case it was poison, but Simon _had_. And then I watched him slip to a crumpled heap, a scream and a sob escaped my mouth although it was a strange strangled sound. As I lurched forward to get to Simon, I fell back after feeling an unsuspecting force. Not only because I noticed that the hand she put on my palm was now encircled on my wrist, but because I noticed the needle that had been dug into my vein unnoticed. And with the haze that dug over me like dirt, I fell into a dark heap wondering what was to come.


End file.
